


infinite

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, Dizziness, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mike is surprisingly gentle with him, for someone Jon knows is a murderer, and at least somewhere on the path from someoneto something, even if he’s not actually moving any further down it. Though it’s not as though Jon can exactly talk where that path is concerned, considering the growing suspicion in his mind that being the Archivist means walking that path too.





	infinite

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for mag91
> 
> there is no timeline there is no daisy there is only me furiously writing porn before the ep is even up on the main feed

Mike is surprisingly gentle with him, for someone Jon knows is a murderer, and at least somewhere on the path from some _one_ to some _thing_ , even if he’s not actually moving any further down it. Though it’s not as though Jon can exactly talk where that path is concerned, considering the growing suspicion in his mind that being the Archivist means walking that path too.

_Technically_ , it’s not as though Jon can exactly talk at all, considering that, in contrast to the gentle way Mike is touching him, he also keeps choking the air out of Jon’s lungs. It’s not the endless-dying-choking thing it was during the statement, but he keeps doing it, letting up so that Jon can drag in a few gasping, painful breaths and then doing it again and again and again until Jon feels like he’s barely conscious.

When he finally lets up entirely, Jon doesn’t register at first. Keeps on bracing himself for it to happen again, and when it doesn’t come he looks down at where Mike is hovering over his hips. He doesn’t quite dare to actually ask the question, but Mike seems pleased enough with that.

“If you try to talk, I’ll have to do it again,” Mike says lightly. “Understand?”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, registers the raised eyebrow, and promptly snaps it shut again and just nods in a sharp, jerky motion instead. Mike smiles then and trails a finger down Jon’s stomach, tracing constellations between his scars.

“Good. See, you can learn.”

Jon shivers and bites his lip to keep quiet as Mike’s hand moves further down, though he can’t help the ragged little noises that start to slip out of him the lower the touches get. Those seem to be permitted at least, so it’s more his own embarrassment keeping him stifling them than the threat of choking.

“You know,” Mike says, tone even and conversational as though he’s discussing the weather, as though he doesn’t have one hand on Jon’s hip and the other starting to slip between his legs, “Not _all_ of the things I can do now feel as unpleasant as that.”

Jon’s mouth had fallen open and he has to snap it shut again, choke back the burning itch in his throat that wants, _needs_ to question. That’s been there for some time, he’s starting to realize, but had never been noticeable when there was no need to not ask, when he could scratch the itch immediately. It burns in his throat like acid but he keeps it back, and he suspects from the look on Mike’s face that he _knows_ how Jon is feeling, that he can see how much Jon is very nearly compelled by his own - by the Archivist’s - need to compel answers.

(Jon is beginning to understand why throwing someone off a skyscraper in Paris would be such a non-event in someone’s life, if Mike has a matching itch to give to the Vast)

When it becomes clear that Jon is controlling himself, that he’s not going to ask the question even as it burns in his chest, Mike smiles again and presses his hand between Jon’s legs, makes him gasp and jerk into the contact.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and when Jon obeys he’s struck immediately by a reeling, spinning dizziness that makes him moan shakily, reduces his perception to just the spinning in his head and the feeling of fingers stroking over him. On some level it’s still unpleasant, but it’s the kind of unpleasant that somehow manages to be pleasurable in itself, and the fact that it renders him incapable of speaking is something of a bonus when he knows the punishment for speaking is a lot worse than this.

Mike doesn’t let up on this one. Keeps it going even as he’s working his fingers between Jon’s legs, until the sensations themselves are making Jon dizzy and he feels like he’s right on the edge of a precipice, like he’s dangling over the edge of a great height and just so _close_ to tipping over. Like he just needs a few moments more and—

And Mike stops abruptly, pulling back the dizzying effect in the same moment so that Jon is left panting and squirming to try to regain the contact, and still dizzy from how close he is even if it’s no longer so all-consuming. He manages to open his eyes, and Mike is still settled between his legs and watching him now, waiting. Waiting to see whether Jon will speak, he suspects, to see whether he’ll ask why Mike stopped even when he knows that speaking means having the air choked from his lungs.

It’s not a question that’s burning in Jon’s throat, though. He might have been able to choke it back, if it were.

“More,” he begs, though, and Mike blinks and then actually laughs. It’s not a cruel laugh, even as he wrings the air out of Jon’s chest, and he releases Jon from the choking quicker than before. If anything it seems more like a slap on the wrist for the sake of sticking to what he’d threatened before than like he’s actually bothered by Jon speaking.

“Maybe after respect we should work on having you learn _patience_ ,” Mike says, tone light. And then, after a few moments spent looking over him, “Close your eyes again, Archivist.”

Jon obeys it immediately, letting out a soft moan when the dizziness takes him and Mike starts to touch him again. Again, he pushes Jon up to that precipice, right up to the edge and beginning to lean, and again he stops abruptly right before Jon can come. Again, Jon begs, and takes the choking rush of falling as punishment for speaking. Again, Mike waits until Jon has started to come down from it and then starts to pull him back up to it, only to stop before he can fall.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, how many times it happens. Again and again and again, until Jon can’t think straight. Until he can’t tell what he’s craving more between the height and the drop, can’t tell whether he wants the fall or to just hang suspended like that. When it hits that point, when Jon starts to find that he’s just as frustrated at the loss of the dizzying sensation of height as he is at not being allowed to come, Mike makes a quiet, contented noise and starts touching again almost as soon as he’s stopped, before Jon has a chance to actually come down.

“Good,” he’s telling Jon as he touches, and his voice cuts through the spinning in Jon’s head and lodges there as Mike brings him up to that precipice again and doesn’t let up this time. “That’s good. You want to understand it, don’t you?”

Jon nods without opening his eyes, the motion drawing a sick, dazed moan out of him. Mike makes a sound of agreement, sounding pleased with him.

“Good,” he says again. “So now understand the falling, Archivist.”

It’s a permission Jon hadn’t known he’d been waiting for, but it’s a permission all the same and so he gives into it. Lets Mike finally, _finally_ push him off of that edge, and he can’t tell if the rush of blood in his ears or the way his body feels like it’s dropping away from him is something that Mike is doing intentionally or just an effect of doing this with him or entirely Jon’s own body. Can’t tell anything other than that he’s falling and falling and falling and at the same time his hips are jerking underneath Mike and he’s making ragged, broken noises as he clutches desperately at Mike with his unburned hand and can’t remember when he even grabbed him.

Mike is there through all of it, a constant presence as Jon falls and falls and falls, and when Jon finally feels like he’s coming back to himself, Mike pulls him up and lets him stay close until the mad fluttering of his heart has settled into something more normal.

“There,” Mike is saying, his own voice quiet and calm in comparison to the wreck Jon feels like. “Do you understand it now, Archivist?”

Jon nods, huddled in against Mike and not sure he’s capable of speech right now. Not sure whether he’s allowed to, for that matter, and definitely not sure he’s capable of handling the choking sensation of falling so soon after that.

“Good. That’s good.” Mike tilts Jon’s head up to examine his face for long moments. “Maybe you’re already claimed, but you can still understand it.”

(after he’s been allowed to recover and then sent on his way politely-but-firmly, Jon goes back to Georgie’s and dreams of infinite depths and dizzying heights and wonders how far into an endless sky the tie around him can extend before it snaps)


End file.
